for all my heart's mistakes
by S.J Carter
Summary: "I don't believe in fate." ―-KlausHayley (au future fic)


**notes: **au where hayley has a miscarriage and loses her memory

**warning: **major character death

**summary: **"I don't believe in fate." ―-KlausHayley (au future fic)

* * *

**for all my heart's mistakes**

**.**

but oh, I'm staring at the mess I made  
I'm staring at the mess I made  
I'm staring at the mess I made  
as you turn, you take your heart and walk away

**.**

― Parachute Band, _The Mess I Made  
_

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Klaus just can't let things go.

In his collection of torn memories, lies the image of two girls: one is a wolf, brown hairs and eyes, wild smiles and beauty. Breathtaking enough to rile his desires awake. And the other girl: infantile, blonde haired, tiny, hazel eyed, broken, dead.

_Dead._

Her heart halts in his arms and she turns to dust right before his eyes.

"What happened?" Hayley is hysterical. "_Klaus! _What happened!" Now, there are tears, endless tears. And she's screaming, punching at his chest, angry, yellow-eyed, hateful, vengeful, and monstrous. Everything he is.

Everything he simply cannot let her become.

"Hayley," his hand rests on the side of her face, pulling her so she will look up at him. And she is tired and lost. Then, he looks in to her empty eyes.

"Forget _me_." He whispers, as her pupils dilate. "Forget _everything_."

At first, there is pain. So so so much pain. Like knives in her heart, lingering and eating away at her, leaving her hollow and worn out inside.

And then,

Then there is nothing.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

**; ;**

She's in Manhattan, out on an early morning jog, running and training for the upcoming marathon. Running is freeing; a form of relief which makes her feel like she can soar in the sky, like a bird. She is free. Free from her forgotten memories, free from the life she once knew, free from the monsters she once cherished, free from it all.

But she doesn't know her past.

So when he's there, years, maybe a decade later, she's not sure what to think.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" She asks, sweat beads running down her skin.

His eyes widen as her hand tugs at his sleeve.

He takes a moment to catch his breath while she crinkles her nose, tilts her head to one side, does that thing with her lips. Her signature pout. Klaus can't help but chuckle at the nostalgia.

"No," he lies to her. "_No, you don't_."

**; ;**

The next time, she's reading a book and sitting beneath an apple tree.

Klaus doesn't know why he decides to extend his stay in New York, he's been on the move ever since he decided to abandon New Orleans, truth be told. He can never stay in one city for too long; it gets old and annoying rather quickly.

But, New York must be special. Because she is here, and she is smiling at him from a distance.

"You again," she says as he sits on the park bench right across from the apple tree. "Are you following me?"

He smiles to himself. "Whatever gave you that idea sweetheart?"

"Twice in a row," she trails her eyes up and down his body. "Coincidence or fate?" She questions and he realizes that she is different now. She is cleaner, business suit wearing, hair tied in to a tight bun, a pair of glasses resting on her nose. He guesses that maybe, forgetting him gave her a chance to better her life.

"I don't believe in fate." He tells her as she smiles and nods her head.

**; ;**

_Fate_, he remembers, and it's strangely fitting. Since he let her go, let her run wild and free. She could have gone anywhere and they could have never seen each other, ever again. Yet _fate—_

**; ;**

The third time, he is painting near Town's Square.

"Red," she walks behind him and watches his crimson canvas. "Such a strong color."

He turns around. "Something tells me that you're not much of an art lover."

She rolls her eyes. "You don't know me at all," she rings. "You don't even know my name."

"You don't know mine," he shoots back, paintbrush pointed at her face.

She laughs at his childish gestures.

"Hayley Marshall."

"Klaus Mikaelson."

And they begin, _again_.

(He shakes her hand and ends up smearing her skin with a trail of red paint. _Fate, _he thinks, _red is the color of fate_).

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**notes: **one my older tumblr drabbles, hope you liked it!


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